


From the Mouth of Babes

by GeekPrincess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Gen, Meta, POV First Person, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekPrincess/pseuds/GeekPrincess
Summary: I am...Jack. Jack Kline. Son of Kelly. Spawn of Lucifer.This is how my story starts.





	From the Mouth of Babes

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story gripped me tight, and refused to let me go until it was conceived, as it were, to the page. I can only explain it as...odd. Yet, I'm terribly fond of it.
> 
> Warnings for events of Season 12 Episode 23 (Finale). If you haven't watched, it probably won't make sense. Unbeta'd. Mistakes are my own.

* * *

 

My mother is in pain. I can feel it rippling through her, painting her aura crimson in sharp, staccato bursts. I reach out to soothe her, my mind brushing against hers as softly as butterfly wings, and a sense peace fills her. A wave of love washes over me in response, honey gold and warm as sunshine in spring. These are all images, thoughts, sensations I have garnered from her mind.

 

For I am unborn, yet to experience these things myself.

 

It is nearly time. The womb in which I have been nurtured can no longer sustain me. My mother senses the same. I know she still fears, not my birth, the thought of which fills her with wonder and delight, but her own death. She fears leaving me alone, abandoned. I wish I could save her. If there was a way, I would seek it. I know I cannot for this is the price demanded for carrying a nephilim child.

 

I touch her mind again, absorbing sense memories, knowledge, love, all she can give me in these final moments. I reach outside us, searching for the grace — and comforting presence — of my protector, the angel called Castiel. I cannot feel him near and I experience something new and foreign, I think it may be doubt. How am I to be without mother? Without Castiel?

 

I renewed his strength, showed him my soul, and in return, he gave me his allegiance.

 

How can he not be here? My mother wonders the same, I feel it reverberate along her thoughts. She is worried, both for myself, and for Castiel. I press my mind to hers, seeking the cause of her concern. The Fallen One. The Father of Lies. The father of my corporeal being is coming to claim me. Castiel and others who are somewhat familiar — a woman and two men — are trying to prevent this.

 

Another shudder rocks our being and we both realize the inevitable has arrived. It is time. I reach for my mother’s mind one last time so that in her last moments she may know I am grateful for the life she is giving me and that I love her as she loves me. I can sense her awe, her joy, as we connect for one last, precious moment. Then the link is permanently severed.

 

Cold air assaults my body, the shock causing a gasp and oxygen floods my tender lungs, sings through my veins.

 

I am born.

 

Again I extend my consciousness. Mother is gone, her soul already ascending to heaven. The other woman lays nearby, unconscious. I sense the two others further away, outside, that is the word. I recognize their chaotic minds, the  of their souls. They tried to take me — change me — not from malice but from fear. They are mortal, they are scared of me, but Castiel calls them….family.

 

Castiel is there! I can feel the bright, heavenly resonance of his grace near the two mortals and my heart exalts. Breath again fills my lungs and I call but only an infant’s wail emerges from this tiny form I have been born into. The woman rouses. She is a mother too. Mary, the mother of the men outside I learn as I scan her thoughts. Mary has risen to her feet, lingering at the stairs at my cry. A moment’s hesitation and she descends, her thoughts on her own offspring. Outside Castiel pauses, his grace alighting in response to my cries.

 

Then another presence appears and my soul shudders. Revulsion for this being, though he may be my sire, overcomes me. Between one beat of my fluttering heart and the next, tragedy strikes. I feel the sudden spike of pain lance through Castiel’s grace as my father, Lucifer, drives a blade through his vessel. All that is Castiel sputters and dies, like a guttered flame.

 

An emotion surges through me that I do not know. I…..I am angry….I am scared. My mother dead. My sworn protector slain. I am a babe. I cannot even move this weak, mewling body from the folds of the blankets in which I lay. Frustration overcomes me. As the echoes of the grief and disbelief of the mortals outside lap against the edges of my mind I latch onto a solution.

 

I must grow.

 

Drawing from the remnants of the memories I’d gathered from my mother and from Castiel I bring forth the image of a human male. I will my bones to lengthen, my skin to stretch, and I am overcome with agony. I cannot stop. I am not safe in this feeble, infant body. I push away the pain, focus my determination….my free will...I hear the ghost of a rich baritone whisper in my mind.

 

I lose myself in the pain as decades of cell generation and division take place in mere moments. My mind pushes everything else away as I focus solely on this endeavor. My awareness of my father, the mortals, the empty places once inhabited by the beautiful presences of my mother and Castiel fading from my attention. I cannot afford distraction. It would be all too easy to lose control and lose myself. I am far too new to life to taste death so soon.

 

I tumble from the bed as my form enlarges; rolls of soft, fatty baby flesh thinning, now encasing willowy limbs of a toddler, a young child, a teen. I push my will deeper into my physical being, urging it to continue, to grow faster.

 

I do not recall the moment my mind spiraled into darkness. I sense madness licking at my awareness and force my mind to consciousness. As I blink open my eyes I recognize I am no longer in the room of my birth. I glance about me, taking in the long lines of my legs stretched before me, the smell of fresh paint, the ever so soft tinkle of the mobile above the crib my mother and Castiel built together.

 

Somehow I have made my way to the room prepared for my infancy. I search my mind. The word my mother used swims to the surface….nursery. I continue to let my eyes search the room and I see my name. I recognize it’s shape, hear my mother’s voice sound its letters in my mind.

 

Jack. Jack Kline. I am Jack. Son of Kelly. Spawn of Lucifer.

 

Recollection floods my mind. I extend my senses outside once more. I must know if the mortals have fallen. If my sire has been vanquished. My thoughts brush over the minds of the mortals and my corporeal form flinches from the anguish I feel in their hearts for the angel Castiel. The men, Sam...Dean...I want to explore their minds more, devour every memory of Castiel, so that I may learn how to survive as the cursed, hybrid child of heaven and earth.

 

I am too deep in their consciousnesses when Mary makes her final play, using her own body to propel Lucifer through...I blink...an opening to Not Here. Their terror causes white hot pain to lance through my mind and I withdraw; shaken by their emotions. Here and Not Here should not meet. I can feel this with preternatural knowledge of my being, sense that Here will be undone if this schism remains.

 

I do not know if I can stop it but I must try. I must not let harm come to the humans, to Castiel’s family. I gather my will once more and extend it towards the distortion. Now that I am focused on the rift I can feel it is already closing, ever so slowly. Perhaps I need not interfere at all. Then a new thought takes me by surprise. Lucifer is in the Not Here. I am safe from him, his princes, as long as Here is free of him.

 

The memory of his grace reaching out for mine causes despair to ripple through my being. Even in those first moments of being I felt him. While my mother’s soul sang of love, Lucifer’s grace reeked of pride. Pride for his own cleverness, his creation, his defiance of God. Whilst Dagon held us in her charge I began to understand my sire’s desires more. I was his greatest insult against Heaven. I was to be his tool, his weapon, concepts I didn’t understand until Castiel.

 

I looked into Castiel’s mind when he sat with my mother, his hand over my womb. I asked to see, to understand, and he granted my request. I finally understood then. Castiel showed me choice. Free Will. I did not want to be Lucifer’s weapon, nor Heaven’s scapegoat. I wanted...I want...to live. I want to know Creation as Castiel has seen it. I want to live within it as my mother did. This, I know, Lucifer will never allow.

 

My decision is made and I unleash my will upon the rift, a wordless cry ripping from my throat in tandem with the frantic shouts of the brothers Winchester. I withdraw all sense back into myself as the the wound between worlds snaps closed. My head aches. There is moisture on my face. My throat burns from my screams. I draw my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and hugging them tight. I bury my face against my knees and focus simply on breathing.

 

Distantly, the sounds of feet pounding up the stairs attracts my attention. I can just hear the soft exhalation of air as the younger brother, Sam, lays eyes on my mother’s corpse. His soul, hurting from the loss of Castiel and his own mother, feels such beautiful remorse that he could not save the life of Kelly Kline. And though there is darkness like veins of metal in the ores of the Earth woven into his soul I can see goodness...kindness in him.

 

I feel curiosity — and no small amount of fear — ripple through his awareness as he sees the evidence of my scramble from the place of my birth. With careful deliberation he follows my shambling trail out the doorway, across the hall, into the darkened nursery. His breath hitches in his throat; heart quivering in his chest. I feel the ghosts of these sensations echo through my own body as I raise my head. I open my eyes; our gazes meet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
